


Of Sea and Sky

by Mythlorn



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Anduin needs his dragon, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, fixit fic, hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-09-22 06:03:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17054540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythlorn/pseuds/Mythlorn
Summary: Anduin Wrynn is a king divided, just as surely as his father before him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One:**  
  
       There was a fine mist hanging in the air of Stormwind, thick with the tang of salt water, but bright with the razor-edge of clean mountain snow. The clouds had rolled in from the ocean, and at last they had infiltrated Anduin’s defenses, sending beads of chilled grief running from the ends of his ponytail to drip down the groove of his spine. His bad leg ached, reminding him that kneeling on marble, or at all, was a poor idea; though it was far too late to take that into consideration. He already knew he couldn’t get up—he’d tried, and was completely numb. Beside him, leaning against the cold and empty stone, Shalamayne stood; or more accurately, both separate halves of her.  
  
The young king spread his fingers wide; fingertips brushing across the engravings on his father's casket. As if he could pause them where they chased each other. As if he could stop the kinetic feeling of emptiness vibrating through stone, and divine some meaning from it. The rain was hard and soft all at once; too much, too cold, but not enough to distract from the ache knotting his throat. He blinked red-rimmed eyes and tear soaked lashes, shaking his head at the cloying wetness against his skin. It was heavy, this heartache that he couldn’t lay to rest. It was weighty, like the life and kingdom he couldn’t put back together; and he felt as lifeless and divided as Shalamayne. There was no more magic in Azeroth, not for him, not since Pandaria; and even the Light felt hollow now.  
  
He had come here to think, and then he had prayed … and for a while after that, he had traced the likeness in the sculpted top of the tomb, trying to remember his father’s face as it had been: Varian’s voice, and the way he laughed. The way he had run his fingers through his dark hair, or the mannerisms surrounding the way he had spoken. Varian Wrynn had been a combination of ugly words, and beautiful ones; of sweeping heroic gestures, and the smallest of precious vulnerable details. He had viewed his son with a mixture of savage pride, and shame. He had encompassed and divided Anduin's world, and the young king couldn't decide which was more ignoble—or sadly missed.  
  
Anduin looked to the two separate halves of the sword beside him, dull beneath the wool-dark sky. Shalamayne would not fuse for him, much to his embarrassment and Genn’s frustration, and he felt that disjointedness like an accusation. Like loneliness, which he was convinced was the real gap between sea and sky; a lover's kiss denied. And like Shalamayne, whatever indescribable something that had been holding Anduin together... was missing. He had known that for a long time.  
  
Of course, Genn had pushed him to take a wife, to give Stormwind an heir. Duty. Responsibility … Anduin had meant to do as he was expected to, but every time he resolved himself to try, he found himself back in his rooms with a terrible headache. It seemed that lying to himself hurt worse than trying to lie to others. He wasn’t broken, but what he needed had slipped through his fingers. The fire that had once burned bright in Varian had been snuffed out along the way; and the day he died, Anduin’s heart had fallen with him—its kindling wet with the brine of Stormwind.  
  
Genn had already come and gone; the moment the old wolf had opened his mouth, Anduin had shaken his head—and to his credit, the other man had left swiftly and silently thereafter. Tess had stalked near several times; he had sensed her almost close enough to touch, but hadn’t been able to lift his head. It wasn’t raining hard enough to convincingly hide his tears.  
  
They were circling him, those clinging to him in his father's wake, and they were afraid to get too close when Anduin was so obviously hurting. They wanted to help, but this … this fear, it was another lingering legacy of his father’s, and it wasn’t nearly as flattering of an inheritance. Anduin knew it would take time before it was easier for them to find comfort in his presence. Varian had been a force in his passion, love, and his _rage_ ; and he had left scars on everyone he had ever treasured as surely as he had left a trail of corpses in his wake.  
  
The sun was setting and the night was growing colder, and still, Anduin couldn’t make himself rise—couldn’t make himself put one foot in front of the other and stagger back to the Keep. He felt like he belonged here, buried beside Varian. There was nowhere else to go, and he was already so alone he might as well have been made of marble, too.  
  
“Father … I need your advice more than ever. I’d probably disregard it, but I’d give anything to hear your voice again.”  
  
He touched the hilt of Shalamayne with cold numbed fingers, then pressed his forehead to the rim of the sarcophagus.  
  
“Don’t do that, just give me your hand and come inside. Have you been out here all day, Dearest?”  
  
Anduin's head jerked up as though he had been struck, swollen eyes widening in shock.  
  
It couldn't be.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: Writing shortfic is so much more manageable. This piece was a sort of bleeding, but I'm intending to write more regardless of genesis <3 I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**  
  
       Staring up at the raggedly cloaked figure, there was no doubt in Anduin's mind who stood before him, hood up against the mist and rain. At first glance, the dragon was completely unassuming; which was most likely how he had made his way into Stormwind. Where Wrathion went, Left and Right were sure to follow, and the weary king found himself wondering how they were faring. It was a notably incongruous thought in a moment he had longed for endlessly; but somehow the fate of the two Blacktalons was foremost in his numb musings.  
  
Surely... this was just a dream.   
  
Yet the dark, clawed hand that reached down towards him was undeniably Wrathion's, as was the warmth he could feel radiating against his upturned face. Could it be? Heart and mind were warring, and as the tore each other apart Anduin couldn't move a muscle.   
  
"My Anduin?"  
  
The whispered words were soft, almost broken—and in a way that made Anduin aware that he was holding his breath. That heat... he hadn't realized how cold he had become; but when he didn't reach up for Wrathion's hand, and it came to rest on his cheek instead, the difference was enough to make him take in a gasp of cold, humid air. The dragon radiated like a furnace, and somehow, some way, that touch made the experience more real. It galvanized the king, and he could move again.  
  
Looking up breathlessly, Anduin's bloodshot blue sought out crimson glow beneath hood, needing to see Wrathion's face. Needing to know this was genuine. Thus, when the dragon's other hand pushed fabric back—turban gone, dark, wavy hair exposed to the ocean surf, surprisingly elegant horns a soundless exclamation in the gloaming—the young king felt an agonized sound rise up in his chest. Real? This was happening?   
  
Turning his head into that touch, lips pressing against Wrathion's palm, the grief and loneliness surged in Anduin, and the words poured out before he could stop them. "How could you!" He gasped wetly. "How _could_ you?!" His voice grew stronger as he heaved himself up on top of his father's empty sarcophagus, resting on his hip. "How could you do this to me!? How could you leave me! I needed you! I _needed_ you!" Rage and grief twined, culminating in a sob that shook the king's exhausted body. "You were my _friend_." The last word was agonized, and tears flowed hot and unchecked.  
  
Wrathion's hand had clenched around Anduin's collar when he raised his voice, as if fearing he might lunge at him; and if the king was honest with himself, he had been about to. He wanted to punch Wrathion for all he was worth, but he had used what strength he had left to lever himself upright.   
  
"I still am, Anduin. I thought what I was doing was right... I don't know if my choice was the correct one, but I did the best I knew how—and I freely admit I deserve your anger." The normally haughty tone was full of that same emotion, that same nameless, coppery, salty ache that rose up in Anduin's throat whenever he thought about his father.   
  
"Then be here now," Anduin finally breathed—what he felt for Wrathion, and all that they had shared culminating in the noble bow of head, and the poignant trembling of shoulders. "Please, Light, I can't do this on my own!"  
  
"But, Anduin... my Anduin, you have been surrounded by all the good people you could possibly need. How could I ever hope to…"  
  
"I needed _you_! And you weren't _there_ , Wrathion! Why? Why come back now? Why come back when it's over? Why come back at all?! Weren't you just using me? The coin hasn't landed heads up for Stormwind. We aren't a worthy ally. We aren't fighting for peace... we're just fighting." Anduin's shoulder's slumped, and he felt the hand at his collar loosen. He turned his head avoidantly away, peering off down over the harbor wall—knowing there were still coffins being unloaded there.   
  
The dead returning home to be buried.  
  
What. What was he doing? What was he saying? He would drive Wrathion away. Was that what he wanted? Was he has bad as his father? Anduin swallowed a moan at his own stupidity. Save Azeroth? He couldn't even save himself.  
  
"Why did I come back?" Wrathion asked quietly, a barely perceptible quaver to his tone as his gaze followed Anduin's. The hand that had been clenched at the king's collar trailed up the side of his neck, tucking a soaked strand of blond hair behind an ear. He had noted the moan, a dragon's hearing was sharp. "I think that you need me most now, and that right or wrong, this is where I am meant to be. From the moment I met you, I knew _you_ were where I was meant to be. Anduin I …"  
  
"Don't bother!" Anduin cried out hoarsely, his words desperate and louder than Wrathion's. "Don't bother to be here if you're going to run away again! Don't do that to me! Kill me, but don't do _that_ to me!"   
  
"Anduin?"  
  
"No, Wrathion!"  
  
"Anduin. I need you to look at me." Wrathion's voice was so level it was almost mechanical, but it was also calming.  
  
Light help him, looking at the dragon was the last thing Anduin wanted to do; yet when warm, clawed fingertips sought out his chin, he let him. He let Wrathion turn his head back until their gazes met. Panic raced up Anduin's spine at the raw, helpless hunger he saw in those ruby eyes. The full realization of what he, himself, needed—and the _way_ he needed it—from Wrathion twisted in his guts, and left him shaking. Crimson met his, and suddenly the young king was aware of how close they were; how very near Wrathion's face was, and the scent of him: the smell of Pandaren spices and smoke, the rich conglomeration of hot metal and earth... "I love you," Anduin whispered hoarsely, head tilting inadvertently.   
  
"I know," Wrathion replied.   
  
The silence only hung for a moment, and then something within the king broke open and he was helpless to stop himself. Heaving forward, both of his hands tangling in Wrathion's cloak, he pulled him to him, and crushed their lips roughly together—and clumsily Wrathion met him. The gesture was a statement and a question tangled into some sort of indefinable arcane shock; and while the dragon clearly didn't know what to do at first, instinct took over quickly. Anduin whimpered into the kiss, his tongue flicking against the seam of Wrathion's mouth... and at that, the dragon's touch softened.   
  
Wrathion opened to let Anduin in at the same time as warm arms eased the king close—heedless that the other man was frozen and soaking wet—and one clawed hand hovered hesitantly at the back of Anduin's head while the other slipped up beneath tunic. Their tongues tangled, and Wrathion finally twined his fingers through Anduin's hair, the tie falling from it as clever talons stroked along scalp. The dragon swallowed those aching sobs, absorbing Anduin's hurt as easily as he did the sunlight on a warm summer day, and he slowed him.  
  
Any passerby would have noted the look of a dragon who couldn't believe his luck; but Anduin was too lost to common sense, or even awareness of where they were, to pay it heed. Wrathion drove the chill from his heart, and as much as he had told himself he didn't want it, Anduin found himself needing that touch. He knew neither of them had taken a lover before, but he was counting on dragon curiosity in the moment, and he couldn't say he had estimated wrongly. Wrathion was unflinching, a steady wall of lean muscle and heat, and when he stepped between Anduin's knees to be closer, and the kiss broke, the young king found himself burying his face into the dragon's chest. "Wrathion."   
  
"I am here," Wrathion crooned, a soft draconic purr following the statement.  
  
"I miss my father," Anduin sobbed, leaning into the vibration beneath his cheek. "I miss everything."   
  
"I know, My Anduin. I know. And he would kill us if he could see us standing here like this …"  
  
"I can't do this." Anduin had intentionally missed the humor, but Wrathion didn't seem to blame him.  
  
"Yes you can," Wrathion sing-songed, talons teasing through damp hair that was clearly in need of a wash.  
  
"I'm so tired."   
  
"I will sleep by your side until you are strong again."  
  
"I can't... I can't do this."  
  
"Hush, my Anduin. Hush, and let me take care of you, as I should have."   
  
Anduin pulled back in Wrathion's embrace, wanting to see the truth on that elegant face. Instead, he saw regret.   
  
"I'm sorry, Anduin, I really am."   
  
"For what?" Anduin asked thickly.   
  
A moment later, the king felt an impact at his shoulder, followed by a belated sharp sting. Whipping his head toward the limb in question, he realized there was a small dart sticking out of the sleeve of his tunic. What? "Wrathion?" he asked, a wave of dizziness already washing over him.  
  
"Well, that went better than planned?" A familiar orc voice echoed down the darkening hallway of Anduin's senses. He felt Wrathion's arms close around him again, this time supporting him fully as he went limp... and the world drifted away on the hum of ocean surf and the patter of rain.   
  
"That was quite a show," Left said calmly, a hint of orcish pride in her tone.  
  
"It wasn't a show, I meant it. And you had best be gentle with him."   
  
"You know we will. It's not the first time we've kidnapped someone," Right tried to comfort.   
  
"Well it's the first time you've kidnapped Anduin, and I expect nothing less than the best," Wrathion hissed to the human woman, hand on hip as soon as she had taken the unconscious king from his arms.   
  
"At least he's not wearing all that armor," Left said conversationally.   
  
Wrathion scowled at her until she sighed and rolled her eyes, moving to help Right.  
  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: Where would my life be without you, Prince Shit. <3 I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  



	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin Wrynn is a king divided, just as surely as his father before him.

**Chapter Three:**  
  
       The world had no color. There was an all-encompassing dull throb in the back of Anduin’s head that felt like too much healing effort, a bottle of Gilnean whiskey to himself, and an arena-based thrashing at the hands of Genn Greymane. It wasn’t, but the scents and sounds around his muzzy senses were familiar.   
  
“Dad?” he whispered hoarsely, realizing that the voice he heard was his own, though it sounded like it was coming from someone else far away—and from down a long tunnel.   
  
“I’m sorry, my Anduin. I am sorry. There now, there.”   
  
Claw-tipped fingers stroked across his cheek, and as the young king fully opened his eyes, the muted darkness exploded into green and gold light. For a time, Anduin’s befuddled brain tried to place him at the inn in Pandaria—at the small village where he had stayed after the incident with the bell, and had first gotten to know the black prince. Admittedly, the pain he was feeling was similar, and many a morning he had woken hurting like this in a Pandaren bed. Wrathion had always helped him down to the hot spring where he would soak until it became bearable. Would that happen now? He somehow didn’t think so.  
  
“Now that’s just sad,” an orcish voice rumbled, holding a sympathetic quaver.   
  
“Left, Right, wait outside.”  
  
“I don’t think I like kidnapping Anduin,” Right sighed, agreeing with her partner.  
  
“Out!”  
  
Anduin was remembering two different times and places at once, and he was disoriented. His entire body still felt numb, and when he tried to push himself upright, he ended up falling against someone’s chest with a groan. Wrathion. Wrathion who smelled of spices and smoke and sun-warmed earth. Anduin heard the sound of retreating footsteps, and each one bounded off his brain with an echo of pain. Oh. His head hurt so badly.  
  
“Slow down, let the drugs wear off, my Anduin. You are safe. You are with me in Pandaria.”  
  
“Pandaria?” The word conjured a font of memories, tastes, sounds, and colors as Anduin tried to make heads or tails of his existence. It also made present company make more sense. “I can’t be in Pandaria, I have a council meeting in an hour.”   
  
Wrathion chuckled when Anduin finally managed to sway upright; kneeling among the sleeping furs like a drunken marmot.   
  
“What?” The king demanded, hand going to his temple as Wrathion’s clever claws straightened out his rumpled tunic. A tunic that was … not his.   
  
“You needn’t worry about anything like that today. Your ‘meeting’ has long since come and gone.”  
  
“Wait. Is this Left’s tunic? Why am I wearing Left’s tunic?” Anduin looked down to check that he was _at least_ wearing his own small clothes, and he was, but then … nothing else. “And where are my trousers?”  
  
“You were soaked. Mortals get ill from being cold and wet, at least, that’s what Right told me. She hasn’t misled me, has she?”  
  
Anduin’s mind was delicately side-stepping that he had been kidnapped from his father’s memorial and spirited away to Pandaria by a rogue black dragon. He wanted to know where his trousers were. That was all. “Wrathion… what. What are you doing? Why did you drug me? If you asked me to, I would have come with you...” the priest was still having trouble holding his head up. “Why here?” The pause was long and awkward, and when Anduin managed to focus on Wrathion’s face, he was shocked at the expression there. Hurt. Fear. Self-doubt. The confident draconic mask had slipped.   
  
“First, I believe I am still a criminal in the eyes of the Alliance. In your eyes. I like my head where it is, and my aunt's has already graced your walls long enough for any black dragon to be over-wary.”  
  
Anduin almost answered, but it seemed Wrathion was rolling forward, and so the young king tried to listen with more than his ears.  
  
“Second, something… something is terribly wrong.”   
  
Anduin rubbed his face with his hand. That was a given. There was a sword through the heart of Azeroth and the world … was not well. “Wrathion, I—”  
  
“—Anduin, I’m dying.”   
  
Anduin made a sound of shock when he realized the dragon was perfectly serious.   
  
“And I know this isn’t the best time, I … I didn’t know about your father until yesterday. I’ve been trying to recover my strength and I was sleeping. I know you don’t care, I know this was foolish, you have every reason to be furious with me and I—”  
  
“—Wrathion?” The young king wondered if everything he had said before, at his father’s monument, had gone completely over the dragon’s head. He had resolved not to answer until Wrathion was done speaking, but the next words made his stomach twist.  
  
“Anduin, I’m afraid,” Wrathion’s voice broke, and so did Anduin’s heart. “And you’re the only friend I’ve ever had. I don’t know where else to turn.”   
  
“Alright...” Anduin said, willing to bite. “Why here?”  
  
“Because this was the first place I felt alive. This… is where I met you. It feels safer.”  
  
Had it been anyone else, Anduin would have been suspicious of the near-tears expression, and had it been a much younger Wrathion, he might have questioned if it was an act. The dragon was an expert actor. But this was gut wrenching, and it was real, and despite his aching head Anduin wanted nothing more than to comfort the other man—his dragon who had finally come back to him. He wanted to be angry, he wanted to keep shouting about being abandoned. He wanted to do a thousand different things, but in the end he reached out and captured Wrathion’s hand in his. The dragon was not wearing gloves, and Anduin could feel the slight catch of scales and the pick of claws. But it was Wrathion’s touch, and as familiar as his own.   
  
Gently, he brought the dragon’s hand to his lips, and kissed the palm.“Are you certain?” he whispered, lips brushing skin as he spoke, and he heard Wrathion’s sharp intake of breath. When he looked up, ruby eyes had half-lidded in pleasure, the dragon’s expression slack and unfocused.   
  
“I… I am sure,” Wrathion whispered. “I very nearly died when the heart of Azeroth was pierced. Left and Right thought it was the end.”  
  
“Does that mean..?”  
  
“It means that the title of Earth-Warder has already fallen to me, whether it was bestowed or not.”  
  
Anduin’s mind was working amazingly quickly despite the lingering haze of drugs. At the forefront of his concerns was the disordered understanding that losing Azeroth meant losing Wrathion. Of course, losing Azeroth also meant all died; it didn’t make the situation any less urgent, though. Moreover, the priest knew he could take two paths. The path of anger and vengeance, or that of acceptance. He had never had enough time with those he loved. Loved … did he love Wrathion? Or was it more aptly, had he ever not … “What … what do we do. What can I do?” It was such a simple question, yet the answer was anything but. He could feel Wrathion’s emotions through their touch, taste it through the Light, and the dragon was telling the truth.  
  
“I honestly don’t know. I never used to be against sacrificing myself for the greater good, but I think I am starting to understand what Yu’lon told me—about wisdom, and when to do nothing, and when to do what I think is right for me. Anduin. I want this. If you will have me for the time remaining me, however long or short it may be, I am your dragon. My heart has been yours since the first time you spoke my name.”  
  
“I looked like hell, Wrathion. I highly doubt you found my mewling voice and half-dead demeanor, thrilling.” Anduin offered another kiss, this one to the dragon’s wrist; and this time there was no denying the desire written into Wrathion’s normally cool features.   
  
“My Anduin, you were the most beautiful being I had ever beheld. I watched you sleep when you were hurt, and stroked your hair whenever you would stir... and I realized that I felt something for you that I never had for anyone else. You saw me, dragon and man, and accepted both—even after what my flight did to your family. You weren’t afraid. Not once. Not of me. Even at the trial, you called me friend; I didn’t know what a friend was, but you taught me that as well.”  
  
“You’re a bastard, you know that, right?” Anduin was fighting tears, and he couldn’t help the tender smile he offered past the tilt of worried brow. Oh, Light. If Wrathion was scared, this was real. And it was a bad situation taking a turn for the worst.  
  
“Right knows that, too. Or she thinks she does. I argue that I am perfectly legitimate.”   
  
Neither of them could stand the gravity of the moment, and the way it digressed from there seemed as natural as breathing. Anduin’s kisses to Wrathion’s wrist somehow found their way to the dragon’s lips, and as those lean arms wrapped around him, Anduin found silent tears streaming down his face. When they parted to catch their breath, the exhausted king buried his face into the curve of Wrathion’s neck, feeling the press of bejeweled patches of scales that normally hid beneath turban or collar. “Please don’t leave me again. Please, please don’t go.”  
  
Wrathion didn’t answer him; instead Anduin felt that trim body heave in his arms, and he realized the dragon was sobbing. The sound wasn’t human, more of a trilling, choked wail, and he could feel surprise in the Wrathion’s aura. Anduin wondered, perhaps, if this was the first time that Wrathion had ever cried; and as he felt the heat of draconic teardrops falling down his shoulder and back, the theory was confirmed.  
  
“You really didn’t have to kidnap me for a hug,” Anduin whispered.   
  
“What is this? Anduin… what is this?” He could hear Wrathion’s fear and confusion. “It feels like I’m bleeding.”  
  
Anduin sighed wetly. Doubly proven. “You’re crying, Wrathion. It’s a normal response to being hurt emotionally, physically, or both.”  
  
“It’s a mortal reaction! Dragons don’t cry! Especially not an Aspect!”   
  
Anduin smiled ruefully, knowing the action would be felt, not seen. “Oh, Wrathion. I wish that were so, but dragons cry. You all can.”  
  
“Nonsense!” Wrathion grumbled… then his tone softened. “I’m turning your tunic orange.”  
  
“It’s Left’s tunic, not mine,” Anduin whispered conspiratorially, tipping his chin up to press a kiss to the dragon’s dark, wavy hair.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: Wrathion: "The Titan Device Did Not Prepare Me For Feels." I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin Wrynn is a king divided, just as surely as his father before him.

**Chapter Four**  
  
       As Anduin cradled Wrathion, his gaze traversed the room they inhabited, noting every detail. Shalamayne had come with him. The halves of her were leaning against the wall by the door, and it looked as though someone had been sharpening and oiling them. Probably Left. There was something telling about that, and the king's mood plummeted further; he was nothing like his father, and he didn't know the first thing about being a warrior. It simply wasn't native to him, and he was thinking it never would be.  
  
Since his coronation, it had become abundantly clear to him that he wasn't worthy of much—certainly not to wield his father's sword, let alone lead Stormwind—and despite the familiar and comforting respite of Pandaria's aura, it felt as if nothing would ever be right again. The only good things Anduin could count were that he and Wrathion were still alive, and that the dragon was wonderfully warm in his arms. But they _were_ alive, weren't they? And where there was life, there was hope.  
  
It was true that Anduin was sick to death of fighting, but he was also growing equally frustrated with his own despair. Of late, the Light seemed further away than ever, especially when he needed it most; and like Wrathion, he had no idea if he was doing anything right. Yet he was still standing his ground, just as his father had taught him. Varian had prepared him for that much: sometimes remaining on their feet was all a warrior could hope for—that, and living to fight another day. So Anduin patted Wrathion's back, swaying him as they both wept out loneliness and fear... and found the beginning of healing.  
  
Anduin wasn't a fighter. He was a priest, and this was more his territory.  
  
Wrathion's sobs had tapered off to undignified hiccups when Left made her way back into the room, Right trailing in her wake. The orc was carrying two mugs of fragrant black tea, and the throbbing in Anduin's head had him praying that one cup would be for him.  
  
"Boss? Are you crying?" Left paused where she stood beside the bed, her confusion obvious as a dark brow arched.  
  
"I am _not_ ," Wrathion denied, hiding his face into Anduin's shoulder blade as Left experimentally nudged the tip of a horn with a mug.  
  
"He stubbed his toe, very undignified. Let him live it down," Anduin replied in Wrathion's stead, prying his eyes open far enough to give Left a playful wink. The golden light of the room felt like a thousand daggers directly into his brain, and he was still numb and sluggish; but the silent chuckle against the king's shoulder made everything worth it. If Wrathion could laugh in this situation, it would have to work out.  
  
"Oh for Light's sake!" Right groused, sitting next to them both and stroking her hand down Wrathion's spine. The dragon shuddered and leaned harder into Anduin, which made her shake her head. Leave it to draconic pride to pretend no comfort was needed—while it was actively being given.  
  
Left couldn't seem to garner her employer's attention long enough to hand him his drink, so she gave up and offered it to Anduin instead; holding the other cup until it was called for. The king took the mug appreciatively. He had to shift Wrathion's position to juggle both tea and dragon, but he managed well enough. He had grown a great deal since Pandaria, and despite his remaining injuries from the incident with the bell, he could hold his own now. Genn had seen to that.  
  
"King Wrynn, drink all of that. It will help. It's not drugged, I promise," Right said, as if he wasn't already lifting the cup to his lips.  
  
Anduin's expression was unreadable as he took his first sip of tea. If it had been anyone else, and with any other set of preservation skills, they wouldn't have trusted either of Wrathion's guards—let alone the dragon himself. But the young king had a strange capacity for trust, and to identify a lie at a thousand paces. Maybe he had practiced a bit with Wrathion. Scratch that. He had. "I have a number of questions. I hope we have time for them all," he stated, blinking in relief as his head cleared. Even the fragrance of the tea was soothing.  
  
"I would hope so. We did sneak into Stormwind and kidnap you, King Wrynn," Right said solemnly.  
  
"We tried to be gentle," Left chimed in cheerfully.  
  
Wrathion sat back from Anduin's shoulder at that, head bowed to hide the orange tears that streaked his face—and the priest used the sleeve of his tunic to blot them away, purposely not making a spectacle. Neither Left nor Right would look at Wrathion, and seemed for all intents and purposes to be stoically ignoring that he had been weeping. Right removed her hand from the dragon's back, and he gave her side eye for it, which she also pretended she didn't notice.  
  
Wrathion held his hand out for the mug that Left still held, and the silent demand of the gesture was only broken by a painful hiccup. "What manner of confounded..." Wrathion muttered beneath his breath, eventually trailing off into Draconic as Right helped him steady his drink.  
  
"Hiccups, Wrathion," Anduin helped identify.  
  
"Not a _mortal_ , Anduin."  
  
"Right. That's why you're dying, am I correct?"  
  
Wrathion shot him an indignant glance, entire body jerking as another hiccup graced his princely form.  
  
Anduin instantly regretted the words, worrying he had hurt the dragon; but the rueful smile he got a moment later let him know it was already forgiven. It also reassured him that Wrathion wasn't lying; The pain and tears were genuine. In his heart, Anduin had already been sure of Wrathion's intentions, but as a diplomat he felt a need for an... amount of certainty. Especially when he had recently been victim of a (well meaning) abduction.  
  
"It would probably occur anyway, I think I've had them before as a whelp," Wrathion digressed.  
  
"All babies do, Boss. It happens when a child of any species grows. Mortality or lack thereof has nothing to do with it," Right murmured, glancing up to Anduin. There was worry in her eyes. Parental worry for Wrathion."You're probably having another growth spurt. You just molted, after all."  
  
Molted? Anduin briefly short-circuited trying to imagine Wrathion shedding like a lizard. Right. The matter at hand, that of becoming Earth-warder. Mentally, he gave himself a shake. "So as painful as it is, let us start here. I can't help until I know what happened. What happened? How did Wrathion become Earth-warder... I thought... Thrall..."  
  
Wrathion managed a long sip of tea, which seemed to soothe some of his hiccups. Anduin had been addressing Right as if she would be more forthcoming with the whole truth; which was, well, _true_. But Wrathion didn't like being talked about as if he wasn't there.  
  
"About that," the dragon said, a brow raised. "There is a reason other than my hatred for the red flight that I have not asked for Alexstrasza's help."  
  
"Do go on?" Anduin leaned closer to Wrathion until their knees touched. Sitting side by side as they were, the dragon seemed to take comfort in being able to brush shoulders with him. Anduin needed the closeness, too. They were both putting on brave faces for Right and Left; it wasn't that they thought the women stupid, but old habits died hard.  
  
"Thrall hunted me down. He was amazingly persistent."  
  
"Now I'm impressed," Anduin said. "You're certain you didn't go looking for him?"  
  
"Not in the slightest," Wrathion said, sounding astonished with himself.  
  
"So Thrall hunted you down. To kill you?"  
  
"Many want me dead, much like you, King Wrynn."  
  
"So Thrall found you and he…"  
  
"Thrall found me, and he forced the powers of the Earth-warder on me. It was extremely undignified. I was so outraged that I shed and hid myself away at Black Rock Mountain."  
  
"Oh," Anduin said, trying to process all the sordid details that simple description must have encompassed. "And he did that, why?"  
  
"It was hard to decipher with all the shouting and elemental uproar, but from what I can gather, he didn't want the responsibility anymore. He claimed he was retiring, and wanted his family to be safe. Being an Aspect is a smidgen dangerous, I'll give him that much."  
  
"I... feel dizzy. Does Khadgar know?" Anduin asked, thinking even further ahead as he rubbed at his temple.  
  
"I tried to visit him at Karazhan, but my reception was not a warm one."  
  
"I see." Anduin's tone was nothing but sympathetic. He hadn't been able to reach out to Khadgar either, and it hurt. A lot.  
  
"We did the best we could," Right interjected, sharing a sorrowful look with Left. "When Azeroth was stabbed, he dropped to the ground. We thought he was dead at first. He had seizures, and when he came to, we couldn't comfort him. He was so weak and sick that all he could do was sleep. We wanted to contact Alexstrasza—she might not like his attitude, but no one wants to see another aspect die."  
  
"I begged them not to. She would have thought I harmed Thrall, or took this by force. I... wish I had. It would have been better that way."  
  
Anduin knew that what had been done to Wrathion in the egg haunted him. At the inn they had shared, the dragon had screaming night terrors. Having more magic forced on him against his will? It must have left him raw.  
  
"Then how? Who helped you? Obviously you felt well enough to come find me," Anduin asked. His free hand had crept across the top of Wrathion's; not holding, just touching. Offering a conduit of comfort when the dragon was so obviously shaken.  
  
"Kalecgos," Left jumped in.  
  
"Kalec?" Anduin asked. "Why? How?"  
  
"I went to find him. Wrathion was still so weak he could hardly breathe. We took turns sitting with him in Nefarian's lair. I didn't think he would make it."  
  
"Kalec agreed to help?" Anduin murmured to Left, stunned.  
  
"I went against the Boss' will. Wrathion didn't like it at first, but eventually he calmed down enough to let Kalecgos touch him. I've never seen a blue dragon so up-close before. The Archmage shifted forms and curled up with the Boss, shared arcane energy with him until he could stop bleeding it out. He made him a necklace. Azerite. See, he still has it," Left reached out and touched the thin coil of a gold chain that glinted just beneath Wrathion's tunic.  
  
"The Azerite …" Anduin was doing the metaphysical math.  
  
"The Azerite stops me from hemorrhaging arcane like Azeroth is doing. It's bought me some time, but I don't know how much," Wrathion's expression was grim.  
  
Anduin was so shocked that he actually managed to spill some of his tea down the front of his tunic, and Right leaned over and tipped his cup back up before he completely lost his grip on the handle. "Wrathion," The priest's voice held such sorrow as he looked over at the dragon. He regretted his earlier jab even more.  
  
"Anduin... I don't know what to do. I don't know if you have answers. I was hoping we might find the way together. We are stronger as one. We always have been. I just don't know how to make this right, and if we don't do something, we will lose Azeroth."  
  
"And I will lose you." Anduin sighed.  
  
"Yes. I'm sorry, Dearest, but that is the way it seems."  
  
Anduin could feel Left and Right's eyes on him, the pleading gaze of desperate parents rather than bodyguards, and it was bittersweet. "Okay," he finally agreed after a long pause. "We face this together." Wrathion's hand turned over beneath his, then clasped and twined their fingers. The king smiled at that, giving the dragon's hand a squeeze in return.  
  
They would find a way, because they had to.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: And The Plot Thickens. I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin Wrynn is a king divided, just as surely as his father before him.

**Chapter Five:**  
  
       Left and Right had departed on what they had declared an ‘errand of moderate importance.’ This left Wrathion and Anduin alone in the inn, and Anduin mostly recovered from the drugs in his system. It had taken a cup of Kafka on top of another cup of tea, but the king was finally able to stand unaided. Wrathion had been strangely subdued since their talk, his eyes soft in a way that Anduin was recognizing only happened when the dragon looked at him. It wasn’t awkward between them, though. No. it was more aching and quietly needy, and Anduin began to realize that what he was feeling was something that had been for a very long time. He just knew how to put a name to it now.  
  
Standing in the golden light of the room, the young king did something he had needed for months now: he took a deep breath. He breathed in the life and wildness of Pandaria, and with it felt the first tendrils of the Light coil around his heart. Turning his hands palm up, he moved to stand in a beam of sunlight from one of the stained glass windows. There, he tilted his head back, his ponytail brushed the tops of his shoulders; and he kept _breathing_ , like a drowning man tasting his first sweet gasps of air after the undertow. He smelled honey, and ten-spice. Jasmine and fresh green things. The warmth of the hearth cooled for the day. “How far is the Folly?” he murmured.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, Wrathion was paused before him, frozen mid-motion. The dragon had been reaching out to touch Anduin, his hand outstretched. The king hadn’t heard him move. The look in those ruby eyes was both sorrowful and smitten, and Anduin briefly wondered how often the other man had been looking at him like that. Since they were boys? Every time Anduin's back had been turned? As he slept? Knowing Wrathion—and truly opening himself up to what he felt—he suspected always. The dragon was telling the truth.  
  
“Not far, Dearest. The same distance it always was.”  
  
Anduin’s blue eyes met Wrathion’s ruby, and he took a step nearer. Like this, he could press his cheek to that questing, reaching hand. “Maybe even closer?” he suggested. He wasn’t talking about the crest of the Folly anymore. “Walk with me?”  
  
“Gladly. Are you hungry?” Wrathion asked, the curve of a talon brushing Anduin’s jaw as the dragon caressed him.  
  
The feeling left anticipation leaping in the priest’s belly, bouncing from place to place like bumblebees trapped in a jar. For some reason, he had never been able to fear Wrathion. How could he? Not when the dragon touched him like this.  
  
Anduin nodded vacantly, his stomach growling as he turned to look at Shalamayne where she rested in the corner.  
  
“It is safe here, no one will touch your weapon.” Wrathion’s fingertips turned Anduin’s chin back to him so that their eyes met. They weren't just talking about the sword. “You look … lighter,” the dragon said softly. “Does this mean I am forgiven?”  
  
Anduin gave Wrathion a bittersweet smile; then grasping his shoulder belt to pull him closer—and the dragon let him, lips already parted in anticipation—he tilted his head in kind. The king had to rise up onto his toes to bring them together, but when Wrathion’s arms slipped around his waist supportively, he merely whispered against those full lips. “Maybe.” He didn’t kiss him, but bowed his head, resting his forehead against a shoulder that had grown much broader than his own—and he heard Wrathion chuckle ruefully.  
  
“I do not know what is more enticing about you, my Anduin. The way you deny me? Or the life I see returning to you.”  
  
At that, the king’s brow furrowed, and a heaviness settled back to his features as he glanced guiltily to Shalamayne. “You really think so?”  
  
Wrathion tilted his head, eyes sparkling with his curiosity as he waited for the priest to elaborate.  
  
“That I would deny you?” Anduin continued, tone hushed and fragile.  
  
Wrathion shook his head, any playfulness gone.“Just now I saw the Light in you, Anduin Wrynn. I saw you breathe again. I saw my whole life in one heartbeat, and I loved you so much I couldn’t bear it. I cannot fathom the hurts you have faced while I slumbered. I can only guess at what came to pass after I left; but I want to help you mend. I want to stand with you as you heal, just as I did before. I want to be with you, if this is the end of all things.”  
  
“And if it’s not?” Anduin asked, lips narrowing to a thin line against the despair still boiling inside him.  
  
“And if it’s not, Dearest, then I will love you for all eternity. That’s a long time for a dragon, keep that in mind.”  
  
“You’re what now, eight?” Anduin asked, his unsinkable sense of humor rising with the strange relief that bubbled inside him at Wrathion’s words.  
  
“In dragon years,” Wrathion drawled, giving Anduin a wink.  
  
“Yes, I’ve heard that before. Come along, I think … I think we both could use something to eat, and then I want to walk up to the Folly.” The priest’s belly made another plaintive noise in the quiet of the room; but Anduin did not complain as Wrathion’s hand twined with his.  
  
~*~  
  
       When Tong beheld the two of them hand in hand, the big panda said nothing at all—but there might have been knowing amusement in his bright eyes. “Prince Anduin, Ah, no, it is King Wrynn now, is not? Still, it is good to see you my friend. You seem … taller.”  
  
“Tong!” Anduin laughed, only letting go of Wrathion’s hand to hug the big Pandaren. “It’s great to see you!” As it always was with Anduin, his sincere care for others came through in his tone, and he whole-heartedly embraced the big panda.  
  
“Ah, but you are skin and bones, I hope you have come to eat!” Tong stated joyfully—then pushed Anduin back to look him over.  
  
It was late in the afternoon and the Pandaren was deep in his cups, as was the way of the land. Anduin didn't know how the big panda was still standing. “Truth be told, yes,” he admitted. Wrathion was standing behind him, expectantly waiting to be introduced, though he didn’t need it.  
  
“And you… that item I sold you, you still have it I hope, Black Prince?” The Pandaren’s eyes had taken on a fiercer gleam as he peered over the top of Anduin's shoulder to the dragon behind him.  
  
“Of course I do, Tong. I could never lose something of such great value.” Wrathion patted his hip pouch with a smile, to which the panda nodded.  
  
“The usual for you, then?” Tong asked.  
  
Wrathion gave the Pandaren a sly grin and a nod, which was returned.  
  
Tong drew two pints of brew from a nearby keg, and sliding them down the counter of the inn's bar with a showman’s flair, he then ladled up two bowls of noodles from the pot behind him—setting them down in front of his visitors.  
  
"Now now, I suspect you have returned for some rest and revitalization? You have booked one of my finer rooms. Surely you remember the hot springs?" Tong was meddling now, and Wrathion gave him a dour look... that quickly softened to appreciation.  
  
Anduin was too busy eating to take note of the discussion between the two conspirators; or at least, that was the aura he exuded as he wolfed down his noodles expertly—chopstick use more practiced than Wrathion's. The dragon had claws to contend with, at least, that was what the black prince had argued. Anduin had taken to the utensils like a champion despite his infirmities; and a few years away hadn't tarnished those skills.  
  
Strange. When had food tasted this good? Anduin honestly couldn't remember the last time he had eaten out of more than basic courtesy, or a reminder that his continued existence depended on it.  
  
He was also curious about what Wrathion had in his pocket. Nothing was ever simple when the dragon made plans; his plots were notorious for layers that even he couldn't grasp.  
  
~*~

      Years ago, Anduin would have been out of breath. Now, thanks to his training with Genn, it was no real effort at all. Not having to run up a hill in full armor was a treat—if admittedly the priest had been stiff as he started his ascent. He had warmed out of it quickly enough, though. Old wounds might have lingered, but youth was still on his side.   
  
Perching triumphantly on the fence at the top of the climb, Anduin pulled the tie from his hair. The too-large tunic of Left's had slipped partially from one shoulder, and the feel of the sun on bare skin was delicious beyond words. Wrathion had kept pace with him up the hill, and any time he paused—whether it was to invite a bejeweled grasshopper to crawl on his finger, or pick up a crane feather—the dragon had been right there. Anduin couldn't explain why it felt like everything he did was marvelous through Wrathion's eyes, but it did.   
  
And instead of making him feel self-conscious or suspicious, he felt... appreciated.   
  
The dragon was standing behind him now, clawed hands chastely clasping the king's upper arms, chin resting on his shoulder. Goatee tickled and itched against the scarred skin there... skin that Wrathion explored with his lips a moment later, kissing the marks left by armor rubs. "You know," he murmured. "You are king now, your armor could fit you properly. You are fair, but for you to scar this badly, you must not have let anyone tend your hurts."   
  
Anduin giggled as goatee found the side of his neck, tickling the tender skin there; and when he turned his head to look at Wrathion—intending to give him a more serious answer—he overbalanced on the fence rail, slipping down to land on his back on the opposite side of the posts. Grunting at the impact, he clasped at the lower rung on the fence, the deep grass cradling him as flower petals and dandelion tufts he had sent arcing up drifted out over the valley below.   
  
Wrathion was just as suddenly hovering above him, expression startled and hand outstretched. "Dearest?"  
  
"That brew was strong," Anduin said with a laugh—which drew a sincere smile from Wrathion. Anduin could see the tip of canines from this angle.   
  
"For a human, I suppose," the dragon teased.  
  
"Well?" Anduin asked, hand flopping down to the grass from where it had clutched the fence.  
  
"Well what, Beloved?"   
  
"Well, are you going to join me or not?" Anduin asked. There was room. No one would fall off the cliff. And the clouds? Those... were nearly as beautiful to watch as the valley below. He had forgotten his pain for an instant, seemingly for the first time since his father's death. And for a moment, Anduin Wrynn felt alive.

  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: I'm halfway through the next chapter already. These two need some happiness <3 I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin Wrynn is a king divided, just as surely as his father before him.

**Chapter Six:  
  
**       Wrathion didn't reply, but he did vault gracefully over the fence to land next to Anduin. Posed elegantly, he smiled down at the priest, long, wavy hair tangling in the jasmine-sweet breeze of Pandaria. He looked every bit the prince that he was—aspect, the king corrected himself, fingers tightening in the grass. The motion wasn't lost on those brilliant ruby eyes, and the proud ghost of a smile traced full lips when the dragon realized his flirtations were coming to fruition. Anduin's heart was skipping beats at the way that dark skin took on a honey gold in the light; and he was certain that Wrathion could hear it.  
  
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Anduin asked breathlessly. "You drugged me and kidnapped me. Isn't this your chance to toss me off a cliff?" He was teasing, and when Wrathion tipped his head back to laugh in reply—the sound echoing rich and joyfully to the valley below—Anduin finally allowed himself the same luxury.  
  
And he was still laughing when Wrathion collapsed to the earth beside him. Turning his head and swallowing a last chuckle, the priest realized just how close the two of them were. Of course they had kissed and touched. Anduin knew what it felt like to hold that lean body between his legs; but this was a different sort of close. When they had been younger, Wrathion had often curled up in the bed beside him. Sometimes in his human form, and sometimes as a whelp. But _this_? Oh, friendship was there, still as strong as ever, but this new hungry, needy, heat between them was a different animal. Perhaps, an evolution, but it had taken on a life all its own. "Kiss me?" Anduin whispered, his hand letting go of its death-grip on the grass to cup Wrathion's jaw. His words surprised them both—if the arch of the dragon's brow was any indication—and then those full lips were on his, and it was all he could do to place himself in time and space.  
  
Somehow, Anduin had expected that Wrathion would be harsh, but the dragon wasn't. The mouth on Anduin's was quivering with restrained passion, yet the gestures were soft. Feather light, they shared breaths when slick tongue was not lapping its way past accepting lips; and once again Anduin found his fingers tangled into that dark hair, thumbs rubbing the contrasting roughness of horns. Tipping his head back into the grass, the priest bared his throat with a moan, and Wrathion followed him down.  
  
The dragon straddled his hips, a knee on either side; his weight settling exactly where Anduin found himself desiring it most. Hot. Wrathion was hot—like sitting beside a fireplace—and combined with desire and the warmth of the afternoon, the king found himself wishing for less clothing. He wanted to know how Wrathion's skin would feel against his, sprinkling of scales and all.  
  
"Please!" Anduin whimpered between kisses, "Please I need this!" His hands left base of horns only to wriggle their way lower and beneath layers of fabric—tugging pleadingly at tunic material until he could slip the pads of fingers under to find flesh. He felt Wrathion take in a sharp breath, and then the dragon was rocking against him, the motion slow and instinctive.  
  
"Oh, my Dearest, my Anduin," Wrathion moaned, breaking away from their kiss to tilt his head back again; searching the sky for any kind of self-control.  
  
Briefly, it occurred to Anduin that this might be the most erotic thing a dragon could experience in mortal form—any kind of touch, let alone sensual—and as he circled the tips of his fingers, and Wrathion's hand came up to clasp his desperately, the theory seemed confirmed. The dragon's grasp only left Anduin's as he acquiescently undid belts; continuing to rock, drawing soft keening noises from the back of the priest's throat—and soon enough the aspect was gloriously shirtless.  
  
But before Anduin could dare to reach up and explore, Wrathion was sliding down—warmth moving sinuously lower on the king's thighs, careful of his bad leg—and clever hands were working up Left's oversized tunic to bare pale chest and belly; pressing kisses to any strip of skin he exposed as fabric bunched up.  
  
And that was nearly Anduin's undoing.  
  
The muscles of the priest's thighs jumped at the contrast of hot, wet, open-mouthed kisses, and the comparatively chill breeze cooling the skin they had dampened. "Oh, Light!" he whispered huskily; aware of the smell of bruised grass and spice, and the hint of smoky ambrosia that seemed to be part of dragon scent. The hot sun had found his bare skin, and he knew without a doubt he would sunburn—especially when Wrathion somehow managed to whip his tunic off over his head with a showman's flair—but he didn't care. All that mattered was Wrathion. His dragon was here. And they were together. And he didn't have to marry someone he didn't love, because he couldn't. He wouldn't.  
  
Anduin wasn't thinking about his grief, or Stormwind, or Azeroth, or the war. It was selfish, but it was the kind of selfish that he needed; and once again, he was surprised to feel the Light welling up inside of him. It shouldn't have been there at all, especially when he was making a conscious effort to let go; when he was thinking only about himself. But the more Wrathion made him feel, the more he let himself, the brighter it rekindled.  
  
Then again, maybe that feeling was only related to a spike of pleasure as Wrathion suckled at a nipple. Deft claw-tipped fingers had found the clasp of trousers, pushing down smallclothes as mouth and dragon trailed the groove of toned stomach to find—oh.  
  
Oh.  
  
Anduin had read about things like this, and he knew what the act was about; yet somehow, even in his fantasies, this had never occurred to him to imagine. But it was happening now. Dark, wavy hair was falling across his lower belly, ticklish in a way that reminded the priest of silk against velvet, and Wrathion was taking him into his mouth, guiding him between pointed canines. Long tongue coiled around him—or lapped at the tip of him as circled thumb and forefinger pulled back foreskin—and the sounds that left Anduin were so primal he was certain they could have been heard to the other end of the valley. His hands found Wrathion's hair again and clutched—thought he was careful not to hold down or pull. Tears were filling his eyes, the sunlight blinding him as it shattered into a million facets and trailed down his cheeks.  
  
"Wrathion, oh, Wrathion. Light, please don't stop. Please. Please." Anduin's heels dug into the grass despite the weight of the dragon over his knees; his hands dancing for purchase between hair and shoulders as he threw his head back again. He was going to break. He was going to fall apart, and he didn't know what to do.  
  
Then, mouth busy, Wrathion rumbled reassuringly to him—and it was the end.  
  
Anduin shattered, grip leaving Wrathion's hair to rip up a handful of grass as he convulsed. Somewhere, someone was moaning high and soft, and belatedly Anduin realized it was himself. He felt the dragon swallow around him, surprised, but taking what he had spilled; and he couldn't fathom how anyone could offer him something like this. This kind of relief. But Wrathion was, and Anduin was grateful beyond words.

When the priest settled at last, shuddering to a halt and back down to the grass, he bit his lip to stop himself whimpering. He was coated in a fine dew of sweat and couldn't move—he didn't want to move—but he felt an insistent tug at his trouser leg which wouldn't be ignored. Vision fading back in and ears ringing, the priest dared to look down... and found Wrathion gazing up at him adoringly; regarding him as if he was the most amazing trove of riches a dragon could ever want. Anduin couldn't fathom it, and it was humbling, to say the least. Light. Light! He couldn't think. He could only feel, and every nerve ending was raw. "What about you?" he whispered. It was sinking in belatedly that he hadn't offered the dragon anything in the slightest.  
  
Bashfully, Wrathion came up off of him, and when Anduin took in the expression on that elegant face, he realized there was no need to worry. His leg was warm. Not just warm, but actually hot.  
  
"I seem to have gotten a little... carried away, Dearest."  
  
Wrathion was licking his lips like a cat with cream, and Anduin thumped his head back into the dirt. "You're amazing, you know that?" he rasped.  
  
"I'm your dragon, I had best be."

~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: This was a very needed thing. I love these two. The chemistry is amazing. I hope you enjoy <3  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin Wrynn is a king divided, just as surely as his father before him.

**Chapter S** **even** **:  
**  
       Wrathion's weight was comforting, and his adoration moderately intimidating; thus, Anduin was relieved when the dragon had thought to tuck him back into his clothing. The drake was now gazing up at him adoringly—and judging by the softness of those ruby eyes, the priest suspected he could have stayed as he was all day—but in the end the newly anointed Earth-warder settled for resting his head into the curve of Anduin's ribs. His horns were rough, yet not painfully so. If anything, they were a pleasant contrast to sweaty, overheated skin. They grounded Anduin and made this real. _Real_.  
  
Stretching in the sunshine, Wrathion graced his king with a rattling sound—one that the priest concluded was the dragon equivalent of a purr—and when it came again, he couldn't help but stroke that wavy, silky hair—his touch saying what he couldn't, and didn't, know how to express. Light. Light preserve him, Wrathion was handsome.   
  
Beneath them, cranes called in the valley. Above them, grasshoppers rasped, and songbirds twittered. The wind dried the sweat on both their bodies, and the sun beat down mercilessly. It felt wonderful on Anduin's achy body—which could no longer handle the falls and winters in Stormwind—and he gave his own stretch. The two of them were a mess, and needed to head back down to the springs to wash. Truthfully, they couldn't stay here much longer. Wrathion might have been dark, but Anduin was far from it; and as he had suspected, he was already beginning to turn pink.   
  
"How do you feel?" Wrathion finally asked.

"Like I don't want to move from here," the priest admitted. "It's as if I'm finally home. Since you left, I... there has been an enormous hole torn through the center of me, and every day you were gone, it got a little bigger, no matter what I did." His father's death had worsened it exponentially, but he wasn't sure how to address that yet. He suspected Wrathion wasn't, either. For an instant, Anduin wondered if he should have spoken. If it would have been best to let silence reign. But the dragon in his arms hadn't tensed in the slightest, if anything, he seemed relieved, and the set of his brow had softened at the statement.  
  
"But here? Now? What do you feel, Dearest?" Wrathion's voice had gone low and draconic with the angle of his neck and the haze of release, but he was still perfectly attentive.  
  
He was also abjectly trusting in Anduin's arms, and in a way the priest doubted he was for anyone else. Admittedly, Anduin might have felt the same way. "Home. Like I'm finally home," he whispered, sounding mystified, and a little awed.  
  
"You don't say?" Wrathion finally lifted his head, pushing himself up onto his elbows until he could rest his chin on Anduin's sternum, itching his stubble there thoughtfully. The king couldn't help but giggle, nose wrinkling and eyes crinkling with joy he couldn't hide—even as he used the grip he had on Wrathion's hair to tug scruff away from tender skin.  
  
"Wrathion!" Anduin exclaimed, the word mostly laughter.  
  
"Is this what I have to resort to, to see you smile?" The dragon asked; ruby eyes going playfully wide before he repeated the motion despite Anduin's best efforts. He knew his victim was ticklish, and he was using it to his advantage.  
  
In his efforts to escape, Anduin got his good leg beneath them, then managed to flip them onto their sides in the grass. He heaved with silent laughter, still squirming even after Wrathion stopped; and when their gazes met again they were both breathless with the life of Pandaria—some nameless magic between them—and Anduin found himself kissing the dragon again. His dragon. And he tasted himself on those full lips.   
  
At last, leaning back regretfully, the king surveyed their handiwork. He had grass stains everywhere. The front of Wrathion's trousers were painted orange in wet patches. They were both sweaty, and there was nothing stately about either of them. It had been Anduin's first real encounter with any kind of sexual act, and it should have been awkward; but it wasn't. It felt real. For the first time since he had left Pandaria, Anduin felt _real_.   
  
"I love you, Anduin Wrynn," Wrathion finally breathed, surveying him from beneath thick, dark lashes. Clawed fingertips traced the curve of Anduin's jaw to tuck mussed blond hair behind an ear. "And I have missed you so very much."   
  
The tears came again, without bidding, without the sting and thickening of the throat that Anduin was so accustomed to. They didn't blind him, they just flowed; and they must have confused Wrathion because the dragon made a subtle, concerned clicking noise that was barely audible to the human ear.   
  
"What?" he asked Anduin quietly. "What... why are you doing that? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?"  
  
"No, Wrathion," Anduin whispered. "I'm crying because I'm happy. And I missed you. And I missed this, us, here." He gestured subtly before trying to dash the wetness from his face, but the tears kept coming.   
  
"And you miss your father?" Wrathion lead. He was still learning to put the puzzle of human emotions together. He wasn't clumsy about it, but he was overly inquisitive and eager for answers.  
  
Anduin eventually nodded. "This was the first place I had ever seen wonder cross that hard face. This was the first time I could recall him sitting in silence with me, bearing my pain with me because he couldn't take it away. We understood each other for one perfect moment. And now he's gone, and I'm the only person who remembers. And that feels heavy," Anduin whispered. He was finally going hoarse, and the tears were hot with grief.   
  
"What happened?" The dragon finally asked, pulling Anduin to his chest. "I was so ill at the time, I could barely speak to my Blacktalons. There was much I missed..."  
  
Anduin made a sound of relief to feel Wrathion's arms around him, his acceptance of his pain. It made it concrete for the king in a way that no funeral, no sarcophagus, no ascension could. Varian was gone, and all that was left of him in this world was Anduin. Anduin who had been a duty, but become beloved. "He fell to Gul'dan. He leaped from his ship to save all aboard. He fought off the Legion so that Genn could escape with a letter for me. He knew. He went, and he knew. When he left, I knew he wouldn't come back, and I couldn't tell him what I needed to. Wrathion..." Anduin choked on the dragon's name; hating to pollute their time here with all that was festering inside him, even if he knew it was time to let it out. The wound had to be lanced before it could heal, and Anduin hadn't ever bled for his father's death. He had refused to let himself when others hurt so much more.  
  
"I'm sorry," Wrathion whispered. His voice was a much deeper echo of what Anduin recalled from their time in Pandaria before. "My Anduin, I am so, incredibly sorry."   
  
"Don't be, please, Wrathion, I'm the one who should be apologizing. You asked me. It can't be changed, I just have to accept it. I have to—"  
  
"—The only thing you have to do is come with me."  
  
"What?" Anduin hiccuped.  
  
Wrathion sat them both up, and reaching blindly for Anduin's tunic, he offered him a surprisingly self-assured smile. "You're going to need this," he said, locating the fabric and then pressing it into the king's arms.   
  
"I'm what?" Anduin was still crying, and now looked bewildered.   
  
Re-clothing himself, the dragon paused to wipe away Anduin's tears... and do something more. A flick of his wrist sent the arcane tingling through them both, and when the king looked down he realized they were clean. Wrathion was no longer wet and splotchy, and Anduin was free of grass stains. They didn't smell of sex or sweat... "How?" he asked dimly, realizing he was, at best, only capable of basic interrogatives at the moment.   
  
"Magic, of course. Convenient, isn't it?" Wrathion was doing his best to make Anduin smile, and the priest loved him all the more for it.   
  
"You'll have to teach me."   
  
"Ancient Aspect secret," Wrathion grinned.  
  
"You mean Khadgar taught you?" Anduin sniffled, putting his tunic back on before he burned any further.

Wrathion heaved a theatrical sigh. "Yes, yes, ruin all my fun. Khadgar taught me."  
  
"So, tell me. Was that thing we were just did also an 'Ancient Aspect secret'?" Anduin offered a lopsided smile while regaining control of his emotions. Wrathion was artfully giving him leeway to sidestep the hurt he had been so close, too close, to touching.  
  
"No, Dearest one, that is called 'the Titan Device didn't detail every facet of life experience I needed, so I opened a book. Several, in fact.'   
  
"Touche," Anduin sighed, blotting at his eyes again. "But were they Khadgar's? Light, Wrathion, should those texts have even seen the light of day?"   
  
"I took the liberty of, well... liberating a few from Karazhan that were, how shall we say, intriguing?"   
  
"Wrathion! That's theft! You could have been turned into a lizard."   
  
"It was liberation, and you cannot change my mind."   
  
"I'm good at arguing."   
  
"I know you are," Wrathion whispered as he leaned forward, stealing another kiss. "Better?" he asked quietly.  
  
"Much," Anduin admitted.   
  
"Alright, then! Now that we are presentable, shall we be off?"   
  
"Off?"   
  
"Yes. And what I have to show you is very, very secret. You do like secrets, do you not?" Wrathion's expression was nothing short of conspiratorial.   
  
Anduin moved closer yet—until his lips were inches from the aspect's pointed ear. "You know I do."  
  
"Well then?" Wrathion stood abruptly before vaulting back over the fence. Walking backward, he pressed a fingertip to his lips. Normally he would have helped Anduin stand, but he was clearly up to something.  
  
"Wrathion, what are you doing?" Anduin asked, standing unsteadily while tugging at his tunic—waiting for feeling to come back in his bad leg.   
  
"Keeping a promise, even if part of it is rather late. Wait right there."   
  
"Wrathion?"  
  
"Just a little while longer."  
  
"You are impossible!" Anduin exclaimed.   
  
"I know."  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: I know what's going to happen. Ya'll are gonna love me. Then you're gonna throw something at me. I accept my fate. I want you to know I cried writing this chapter. I don't own feels. Yw. -passes Kleenex box-  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin Wrynn is a king divided, just as surely as his father before him.

**Chapter Eight:**  
  
       Anduin watched with bated breath. Time seemed to slow as Wrathion tilted his head back into the warm sunlight. For a moment the glow highlighted dark strands to rich reds and golds, the breeze catching thick waves and tangling them. The dragon looked nothing short of beatific as he savored the scents of the meadow below, and the buffet of mountain wind that gave jasmine a crisp tang.   
  
Then there was a roil of arcane dust, black and violet swirling, mixing with clover and honeybees while spreading out… and out, tendrils of magic climbing the honeysuckle vines that twined with the fence. The brush of magic as it found Anduin’s bare skin felt like Wrathion’s touch, and it made the king’s heart skip a beat.   
  
Anduin had blinked only for an instant, but when he focused his eyes, it was a young drake who stood before him. His inky scales were a sharp contrast to the golds and greens of Pandaria, and yet somehow the priest had a feeling that out of everyone on the continent, it was Wrathion who belonged here the most.   
  
Midnight scales were underlit by the vibrant orange-gold of underbelly, and aureate wing membranes lent scales a gleam that was as opulent as Pandaren silk; as if fabric could become fire, which had become flesh. Wrathion was the most stunning dragon Anduin had ever beheld, and he dried his palms nervously against his trousers when crimson eyes opened and turned to regard him regally.  
  
His.   
  
He was Wrathion’s, and Wrathion was his, and he would never belong to someone else as long as he lived. No more suitors, no more awkward interactions with women he didn't want. This... was what forever felt like.  
  
“Well, here we are,” Wrathion said with a toothy, draconic smile. There was some hesitance in his posture, but otherwise the young drake was as lean and sleek as Anduin had imagined he would become.   
  
“What do you mean?” Anduin asked.  
  
“This is my promise, and my secret,” Wrathion said more quietly, a strange reverence in his tone as he bowed his head … then dipped his shoulder. An invitation for Anduin to climb onto his back.   
  
“Wrathion?” It was starting to sink in for the king. Oh, Light...  
  
“Fly with me, Anduin Wrynn. I want to feel your heart beating in time with mine—I need the sky and the thrum of my wings with the wind. I need the pulse of the earth, and the voice of Azeroth. I hear her clearest through you.”   
  
A slow smile was spreading across Anduin's face. “And we will have adventures?”   
  
“Adventures that will age your father ten years in a day.”   
  
For an instant, Anduin forgot his scars. He forgot his limp and the pain in his leg. He forgot the wound in his heart and his father's death, and he ran to Wrathion’s side—vaulting onto his back in a way he hadn’t done since he was a child, learning the joy of horseback—and when he nestled between dorsal scales, knees wedging him into place, he considered how natural it felt. Wrathion was hot beneath him, alive and so present in the moment... that Anduin could let go and hold on all at once.  
  
Stroking a wing when it convulsed at the curious sensation of a rider, the king couldn’t help the grin that finally split his face. He felt that smile, and he meant it, too; the gesture was no longer empty and dim. “I suppose I should have asked very nicely?”   
  
“You mean, you haven’t already?” Wrathion queried, tilting his head so that he could make eye contact with Anduin—the gesture endearingly draconic.  
  
“I think it was more along the lines of _you_ who convinced _me_ so beautifully.” Anduin settled himself along Wrathion’s spine, legs wrapping around neck and the top of shoulders to give himself a better grip. There would be no harness, and nothing between them.   
  
“Perhaps you are right,” Wrathion said, side-stepping beneath Anduin’s weight as if taking his measure.   
_And he was_ , Anduin thought.   
  
He could tell the sensation of having a rider was as fresh for him as it was for Anduin to be astride him. The priest then found himself stroking the rise of broad shoulders with his palms, rubbing soothingly in the direction of scale growth to feel the muscle beneath. None of this seemed alien to him. It was as effortless as breathing—loving all that Wrathion was, and he could almost feel the dragon's satisfaction with the attention.  
  
Lover. That word came as easily as touching Wrathion did, and Anduin breathed out a sigh of relief at it.   
  
“Are you ready?” Wrathion asked, the wind catching his beard and frills rakishly as he turned to nudge at Anduin’s calf.   
  
In reply, the king tapped him lightly in the snout with the toe of his boot, just like he did Reverence when he took to biting at stirrup straps. Wrathion went walleyed at the contact, and Anduin had to stifle a snort of laughter. In retaliation, the aspect made a sound of mock-outrage and slapped the priest in the face with a wing membrane—which swiftly devolved to them laughing off their inexperience together.  
  
~*~  
  
       In the end, Wrathion had been too nervous to attempt taking off from the ground, so he had settled for a running leap from the edge of the Folly. Anduin, on the other hand, hadn’t had the slightest reservations. As Wrathion’s wings caught the air and the warm updraft from the valley below, the king gripped tight with his knees and held his arms out, eyes closed and head thrown back into the sunshine. They rose up, and Wrathion gave a draconic cry of triumph that made Anduin feel alive. He was weightless. They both were.   
  
Looking down below them, the farmlands and hills began to look more like a patchwork quilt. The higher they flew, the thinner and chillier the air became, but Wrathion was so warm that it concerned Anduin little. “This is amazing!” he shouted. He had ridden his share of gryphons but this… he hadn’t felt so free in ages.   
  
“Wait until you see what I’ve found!” Wrathion called back, yawing on the breeze and spiraling them down toward Kun Lai Summit. Anduin had almost asked the dragon to stop in the Vale of Eternal Blossoms, but his mate had other ideas.   
  
It was cold, and by the time Wrathion guided them around the back of two tall, frozen mountain peaks, Anduin’s grin had more or less frozen on his face, but he was happy. Light! He felt alive and connected to Azeroth again. Yet when Wrathion backwinged in for a landing, the full enormity of what the dragon wanted to show him left him speechless. The king had watched the place in question as they approached, and he had questions that were floundering somewhere in the sea of his curiosity. It wasn't possible, was it? To find a place like this... here?  
  
Sheltered by the cleft between two mountain peaks, a caldera sunk down into the depths of the mountain rage. Snuggled between jutting rocks, the green basin was filled with more tropical growth than Ungoro Crater. Snow tumbled right down to the edges, but the center was filled with tall fruit trees, and around them the thrum of pollinating insects was unmistakable.   
  
The landing was surprisingly gentle—and unsurprisingly fragrant—as things went in Pandaria. But what amazed Anduin even more than the scenery was that Wrathion had taken on a glow; and by the time the priest slipped from his back into the soft, thick grass, he understood why. Here was closest to the earth. Here there was lava warming the ground, heating the land and water from beneath, and making a haven for life that a red dragon would have traded their right wing for.   
  
“Oh, Wrathion,” Anduin whispered, clinging to a dorsal ridge as he waited for feeling to come back in his left leg. “Where are we?”   
  
“I don’t know, I've never met another here, and I’m not certain the Pandaren even know this place exists. There are no temples or roads…”  
  
Anduin couldn’t shake the feeling that he was the first mortal to ever set foot within the basin. “This is your secret?” he asked softly, the last of his headache forgotten in his astonishment.  
  
“One of them, yes,” Wrathion replied, leaning down to nuzzle into Anduin’s chest—allowing him to lean on him until he had sorted his limbs again. The entire flight had taken less than an hour, but it was understandable that old injuries might haunt the priest, especially with sudden changes in temperature. "So what do you think?"  
  
As Wrathion allowed him some stability, Anduin found himself exploring his mate’s change in form. He stroked up and down eye ridges, and around the surprisingly soft skin of nostrils and their scaly valleys. The pads of his fingers followed the curves of horns, pausing where that lone, golden hoop pierced one of them. The dragon's beard was surprisingly silky, and frills had a texture that was more akin to satin than the flesh between wing bones.   
  
“What are you doing?” Wrathion asked, his tone indicating that he didn’t object, he just wondered what Anduin was thinking—especially considering the beauty of where they were. There were much better things to look at by the black prince's estimation.  
  
“Learning you,” the priest the answered, “Is it uncomfortable?”   
  
Wrathion’s nostrils fluttered soundlessly, lips twitching in a manner that suggested he was enjoying the spot Anduin’s fingertips were now circling—the base of a horn to be precise. “No, My Anduin. It is not. Quite the opposite, really.” The dragon then pressed his forehead to the priest’s chest, angling nose horn underneath the curve of armpit. From the crown of his head to the tip of his snout, his head was longer than Anduin’s torso, putting muzzle at the height of the young man’s knees.  
  
"Wrathion?" Anduin whispered into an ear, wrapping his arms gently around the dragon's muzzle, fearless regarding the press of canines against skin. "Thank you. Thank you for giving me this adventure. I want this to be the start of so many more. Can we have that?"   
  
"My Anduin," Wrathion whispered again, warm breath spilling against Anduin's belly. "I had thought you would never ask. But if you let go of me, there is one more place I want to show you, and I need to be in my aspect form to do that."  
  
"Oh! Sorry!" Anduin whispered, kissing a scaly brow ridge before he stepped back regretfully.   
  
"You truly accept this form, don't you?" Wrathion chuckled, both amused, and astonished—though he shouldn't have been. There wasn't a single person on Azeroth that Anduin wouldn't at least make an attempt to understand, or like.  
  
"Of course, Wrathion. I love all of you, even the things you think I might hate, or try to hide from me." The king's fingertips found a loose scale between the joining of neck and shoulder, and his brow furrowed with concern. For all his beauty, Wrathion wasn't well. The scale came away in his hand, leaving a bare patch the size of his fist, and he glanced up worriedly.   
  
"It's alright, Beloved. We will find a way to mend it," Wrathion breathed, nosing at the inky scale that Anduin was tilting in his hand, studying the reflection of the snow-bright sky and mountain peaks within it.   
  
"Will it really?" Anduin asked, his joy faltering for a moment.  
  
"I know you, King Anduin Wrynn. You will find a way, like your father before you. And his father before him."   
  
Anduin's hand closed over the scale until all the blood left his hand, knuckles white from his desperate grasp. And when he looked up at Wrathion again, there was steel in his gaze. "Yes. You're right."   
  
There was a long pause, in which a sly look overcame Wrathion's draconic countenance. "Of course I'm right. I'm your dragon."   
  
Anduin made a disgusted noise at his lover's irreverence before pushing him playfully away. "Go on, change back..." he said, opening his hand to regard the scale again. "Let's see what else you have to show me."  
  
The blood returned slowly to the priest's fingers, and his reflection in the inky surface looked as windswept and confused as he felt.   
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: I have been told this chapter is exceptionally vivid. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did. It's going to get a helluva lot better from here, too <3 I am determined to give these babies the kind of love story that the deserve. Thank you, as always, for being a reader~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin Wrynn is a king divided, just as surely as his father before him.

**Chapter Nine:**  
  
“You know, I spent a great deal of time considering this; then, once I had made up my mind, I spent even more searching for the right item. You know how particular I am,” Wrathion said. “Of course, after that, there was finding the perfect place, and waiting for the perfect moment. I am a patient dragon, but as it turns out, there is no such thing as a perfect ‘anything’. Life lesson learned.”   
  
Anduin had been following behind Wrathion, his limp pronounced, but he was keeping up. The dragon didn’t insult him by drawing his attention to his infirmity, he simply moderated his pace and accepted his mortal mate for his frailties. Anduin Wrynn was stronger than he knew. Strong enough to attract a black dragon who was intrigued by powerful things… and people. Thankfully, the young king didn’t seem to have come to that conclusion yet, and Wrathion didn’t intend to guide his attention to the matter.  
  
The caldera graded steadily upward, the path the two walked twisting and turning through fruit trees and thick green grass. The wind that thrummed through the boughs above them was icy and wild, but the heat of the sun and earth stole the chill before it could reach skin. Anduin had his head tilted back, watching the flash of multicolored songbird wings above them, as enraptured as Wrathion had been when he first found the place. The hum of bees was hypnotic, almost... idyllic, and the harmony between earth and sky reminded Wrathion of Anduin, whom he offered his hand out to after a brief pause to allow him to catch up.  
  
At first the king didn’t seem to know what to do, but he did reach back—and when Wrathion slipped his warm palm against his, twining their fingers. Anduin sighed at that, a shy, sweet smile turning up the corners of his mouth. This time, instead of following the priest fell into step, and the two of them kept climbing. “Just like Mason’s Folly,” Anduin said softly. He felt those ruby eyes on him again, their intensity a near-tangible caress, and he found himself enjoying the attention.   
  
“Almost,” Wrathion replied tenderly. “Except, I like it much better when you aren’t hurting. Head easing?”   
  
“You… didn’t have to drug me, you realize? I would have come with you to the ends of the earth, if you had asked.” Anduin didn’t plan on letting the matter die anytime soon.  
  
“Well, I had to be certain. I couldn’t give you a chance to say ‘no’.” The path was steeper now, passing between a divide in the mountain. Wrathion was leading Anduin steadily higher.   
  
“How very like a black dragon.” Anduin shook his head.   
  
“This shocks you? Come, Dearest, it is only a little further.”   
  
“What are you going to show me?”  
  
“Do you want me to ruin the surprise?” Wrathion asked, teasing exasperation in his tone. “We’re almost there.”   
  
Anduin didn’t reply, but he did look down to where their hands joined, smile broadening. The contrast of Wrathion’s dark skin against his light was beautiful, and he gave the dragon’s fingers a reassuring squeeze. If he required a reminder of how much he needed this, and how much he loved his dragon, he didn’t anymore.  
  
There was a sort of rich heaviness growing in the air around them, the exotic perfume of blossoms that the priest knew he should recall—but couldn’t put a name to—lending to the sense of sacredness; one that Anduin formerly had only associated with the Light and chapels. But this was different. There was an elemental thrum to the land beneath his boots, and the priest realized he was feeling it echoing through Wrathion. Earth-warder. Black Prince. Heir of the Black Dragonflight… and mate. Azeroth heard her scion. All of these things were hints of what was to come, but Anduin had not been prepared for where his dragon guided him next.   
  
At the top of the rise, a lone oak tree rose, massive branches shaped by wind, water, and time. At its roots, a carpet of thick green moss spread out, and sprouting from that verdant soil, a single golden lotus rose. That one blossom had grown in the light that squeezed between the branches of the oak, looking for all the world as if it had fallen from the heavens. It was the fragrance of that singular flower that saturated the air, and the glow surrounding it was beatific.   
  
Anduin couldn’t speak, but he could feel Wrathion’s eyes on him; studying him as the dragon was wont to do whenever the priest was concentrating—and he felt like he could get away with it. “Oh, Light… Wrathion!” Glancing outward at last, the young king’s gaze swept to the view beyond the edge of the rock face. All of Pandaria was spread out beneath them, a living patchwork quilt even more magnificent than that at Mason’s Folly.   
  
“And if you think this is spectacular, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Wrathion began, still clasping Anduin’s hand tightly, he dropped to one knee. It was a human tradition, but he wanted to be certain he communicated his sincerity. He had researched what to do, much to Left and Right’s amusement, and eventual collusion.   
  
Anduin’s eyes widened even more if that was possible, their blue even brighter beneath the azure sky.   
  
“Anduin Wrynn, High King, Priest of the Order of Light. My Little Lion. Will you be my consort? My only? I want no other at my side, however long or short our time. Marry me, Anduin, please.”   
  
Dragons weren’t often monogamous, and that fact only drove home the sincerity and depth of what Wrathion was offering to Anduin. The priest was shaking, the hand the drake still clasped visibly trembling. Wrathion’s expression was utterly defenseless as he gazed up, full lips parted, the hint of canines showing as he trembled, too. The earth around them seemed to grow more hopeful, Azeroth herself taking notice of this one honest moment.   
  
“Yes,” Anduin said, hitting his knees before his dragon, and then drawing Wrathion in for a kiss. It was deep, slick, warm, and vulnerable—and as Wrathion leaned into him, both let go of each other’s hands to clasp at neck and shoulders. The earnestness of the gesture carried Anduin onto his back again, and that was when the lovers parted. Once again Wrathion was resting his chin on a breathless Anduin’s sternum, and the priest was trying desperately to see through a stream of tears. “By the Light, yes.” Anduin breathed, stroking a curl of dark hair off of Wrathion’s forehead.  
  
“Well then?” Wrathion asked brightly, looking a little misty himself. He reached up and tipped the lotus toward Anduin by its stem, revealing something sparkling in its depths.   
  
Anduin reached out, pads of his fingers gentle as he brushed the velvety petals of the plant, careful not to damage it—and from the center he plucked a ring. “Wrathion? How?”  
  
“Dragon secret.” Wrathion let go of the stem of the lotus, and it bounced back upright—seemingly proud in the execution of its rather important courier service.  
  
“How long have you been planning this?”  
  
“Also a secret.”  
  
Anduin slipped the ring onto his finger, admiring the star ruby set deep within the floral gold patterns of the band. Around the cabochon, a dragon twined. It was stunning, and put the Wrynn signet ring beside it to shame. “Wrathion?” Anduin asked. “I know it isn’t much but…”   
  
Taking his signet ring off required some fancy wriggling with the position the dragon was in. But once Anduin had removed it, he caught one of Wrathion’s hands again. Looking deep into those unfathomable crimson eyes, he eased the ring onto the dragon’s finger in return. He knew Wrathion was dying. He knew he was setting them both up for inevitable mortal heartbreak, one way or another. Yet if this was a mistake, it was one he was willing to make again, and again. “I wish my father was here to see this,” Anduin admitted.  
  
“Are you joking?” Wrathion asked, the surprise in his tone augmenting his accent. “He would have died from the shock.”  
  
Anduin shook his head, surprising himself with a sharp bark of laughter at the dragon’s irreverence. Somehow it made his grief seem a little less weighty. “But the look on his face...”  
  
“Admittedly, it might have been worth it...” Wrathion was grinning now. “My Mate.”  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: As it should be, always and forever! <3 I hope you enjoy~  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!  



	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anduin Wrynn is a king divided, just as surely as his father before him.

**Chapter Ten:**  
  
Anduin sat shoulder to shoulder with Wrathion, legs dangling over the edge of the drop. It was something he did at night atop the Stormwind Keep, and he felt equally at ease doing so in a strange caldera in Pandaria. In Stormwind he had been by himself, but here, with Wrathion, a lone vigil had become a celebration. His view was also unobstructed now, and what a view it was. Beneath them a wave of vibrant flora and fauna spread out—emeralds and yellow-greens combining in a lush quilt of vegetation. Blooms and bees twined in and out of the updraft from the valley floor, mixing the scent of warm earth and growing things with the sharp snap of mountain air. If there was a heaven or an afterlife... Anduin had found it.  
  
In the shade of the ancient Pandaren oak that they had proposed to each other beneath, the young king found the ring Wrathion had given him was the only thing weight him down anymore—but even that was reassuring, not heavy. It made Anduin complete in a way he hadn’t before; and despite the plunge yawning beneath him, it no longer seemed like his world was in free fall. Here was solid ground. Here was earth to grow upon, and sky to soar.  
  
Feeling Wrathion’s fingers twine with his, the dragon's thumb brushing appraisingly over the ring, Anduin turned to look at his… betrothed. They were now, weren’t they? And his breath left him in a rush. With dark skin, inscrutable ruby eyes, inky, wavy hair, and mocha horns that so elegantly swept back along the curve of skull—Wrathion was handsome. Beyond so, truthfully, and if the dragon had not told him so himself, the priest would never have believed that he was ill, let alone that he was dying alongside Azeroth.  
  
The glint of gold chain beneath tunic said otherwise, and Anduin swallowed audibly.  
  
“What is it, Dearest?” Wrathion asked, brow furrowing as he tilted his head inquiringly. “Was this a poor idea after all? I thought I did rather remarkably—this wasn't an easy plan to carry out, I hope you know...”  
  
Anduin shook his head. “This is the most amazing thing anyone has ever done for me… so it’s not that. I was just thinking...” The priest then halted himself mid explanation—the ache in his tone preventing Wrathion from making a teasing comment about how painful though must have been for him.  
  
“About?” The dragon’s expression sobered in an instant. Wrathion might not have understood his emotions—let alone human ones—very well, but he knew something was wrong.  
  
“About how I’m going to fix _this_ ,” Anduin stated, leaning over to skim the pad of a forefinger along the metal of the necklace Kalecgos had given Wrathion. Azerite. Just brushing it made the healer's fingertips tingle.  
  
Wrathion looked down, and then caught Anduin’s other hand, tugging at both until the young king turned at the waist to face him and forgot about the necklace. “Anduin. You are a good man, and the perfect mate, and I don’t believe there is a way to stop what is happening no matter how much you want to. That is, unless Chronormu finds a new path through time, and if I’m honest… I wouldn’t change a thing that led up to this moment.”  
  
“I’m being selfish, aren’t I?” Anduin murmured, looking down at the lack of space between them where they sat.  
  
“No more selfish than I, Beloved.” Wrathion lifted Anduin’s hand up to his lips, and he kissed the back of it first, then turning it over, the palm. The last kiss was draconic in its affection, and Anduin’s heart skipped a beat.  
  
“Can we talk more later? I just want… to enjoy this. I know I’m the one who brought it up,” Anduin’s voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper.  
  
“Of course, Dear Heart, you’re assuming that I have no more questions, so later for the both of us. And hate it though I do, you are mortal, and the sun is setting. You do not need to catch cold when we should be exploring and enjoying ourselves. That... and we should return before my Blacktalons come looking for us. Right doesn’t particularly enjoy heights, and I hate to deal with her temper when she’s unnerved.”  
  
~*~  
  
The flight back had been balmy. Anduin had clung gamely to Wrathion as he dipped in and out of the clouds in the sunset light, and as if hearing the priest's unspoken request, the drake had briefly detoured into the Vale of Eternal Blossoms. Flying so low his wings slapped a few of the branches, Wrathion had joyously showered Anduin in cherry blossoms, enjoying the music of the priest’s laugh—and Light, did Anduin laugh, and it sounded like he hadn’t done so in ages.

When at last their jaunt had come to an end, Wrathion backwinged down onto the top of Mason’s folly; and after returning to his aspect form, dragon and priest walked hand in hand back down to the inn amidst growing cricket and frog song.  
  
As expected, Left and Right were waiting for the wayward duo. Bustling around them, Tong was busy lighting lanterns, and he gestured to the plates along the counter. It seemed Wrathion had commandeered the entire inn to himself, and somehow Anduin wasn’t surprised. What did startle the priest was the grumble of his belly at the sight of steamed bean buns, noodle bowls, and sushi platters. He hadn’t truly felt hungry since his father died, and when he had eaten, it had been mechanical, a means to survival only. But this? This…  
  
“I can hear your belly from here, King Wrynn,” Left grinned, flashing Anduin a cheeky wink.  
  
“Eat. I promise, this time there will be no drugs,” Right said cheerfully.  
  
The two women could see that Wrathion’s mission had been successful, and the dragon was obviously preening. “Oh and… you have a guest, Boss.” Left warned despite her smile, watching Wrathion’s brow quirk in surprise.  
  
“A guest?” Wrathion repeated, cultured voice rising in question.  
  
“A princess, even,” Tess said, stepping out from behind one of the columns at the center of the inn.  
  
Anduin froze, ice filling his veins at the sight of the rogue. Was she here to take him home? To threaten him? What would she tell Genn? His mind tripped all over itself; and he reflexively put himself between her and Wrathion. The rogue princess was his best friend, his only remaining friend, really—but life had shown him how quickly those he believed in could shove a knife in his back. “Tess?” he rasped cautiously, “Why are you here?”  
  
“Anduin, why do you _think_ I am here?” Tess asked, crestfallen at the terrified look on Anduin’s face—a face that was normally schooled to a peaceful smile. It was hard to make a well trained diplomat come unglued, and she wondered what sort of monster her friend thought she had become since joining The Uncrowned.  
  
Anduin tried to come up with an answer, but only managed to stutter and stare. The months since Varian’s death had changed him, and he hadn’t had hope in so long. He was fearful that what life and joy he had found again would be snatched from his grasp; and he trusted no one, not even Tess, with the one thing he now had to lose. At the heart of it all, Tess Greymane was Genn’s daughter, and Genn had made his designs for Anduin, and her, crystal clear—good man though he was, he was a noble. And Anduin... was not.  
  
Tess looked exasperated. “Anduin, I’m just glad you’re okay. Father is having kittens, and your Aunt Valeera is beside herself. I took a guess, and I got lucky when I followed your trail here. What happened?”  
  
“I’m not going back,” Anduin said resolutely.  
  
“That's not what I asked... I won’t… Light knows, Anduin Wrynn, I won’t try to make you. We were losing you. Valeera was determined you’d gone into the ocean until she found that dart casing. Anduin, please? We love you. At least let me go home and tell my father you’re okay. Mum is terrified, too.”  
  
Wrathion recovered before Anduin did, and seeing that neither of his Blacktalons were upset, he took his cues from their calm. Wrapping an arm around Anduin’s waist, the dragon glided out from behind him to stand at his side—his pose every bit gentlemanly and collected. “Princess Greymane. It’s always a pleasure, please join us for the evening meal. I’m sure an understanding can be reached.”  
  
Anduin’s spine was still stiff, his posture guarded, but he melted into Wrathion’s touch after a gentle massages from taloned fingers. “Don’t worry, Dearest,” the dragon murmured, reaching down to take Anduin’s hand. The gesture was not subtle, and it advertised both rings. Wrathion knew Tess would not miss what he was trying to tell her, and it was obvious he had gotten his point across when her hand went to her forehead and she had to sit at one of the nearby bar stools.  
  
“As I said, a celebration is in order!” Right said, her gruff voice as joyous as it ever was while revealing a previous discussion with Tess to her employer.  
  
“A celebration,” Tess echoed breathlessly, but the hurt in her eyes said otherwise.  
  
The meal was lighthearted, Tess ate and drank right along with Left, Right, and Wrathion. Anduin kept giving her smiles, but they lost their sincerity when he met her eyes and saw the hurt. The night wore on, Tong came in and told several stories and helped to clean up. Afterward, Left slunk away to help in the kitchens while Right settled by the fire to have a smoke—and keep an eye on her charge and his betrothed.  
  
This left Anduin standing awkwardly beside Wrathion with Tess staring him down. The tension kept growing until the priest was tempted to say something, but the moment he opened his mouth, Tess rounded on him.  
  
“Light take you, Anduin Wrynn! You scared me to death!” Her voice broke as tears filled her eyes, and before Anduin could decide what to do to help, she had thrown her arms around him and buried her face in his chest.  
  
“Oh, Tess,” Anduin whispered, his arms going around her at last. He could feel Wrathion’s curious ruby studying the emotional exchange before him, cataloging every detail. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m okay. Truthfully, I’m better than I’ve been in a long time, I need to be here.”  
  
“You still smell of the drugs! I’m a rogue and an alchemist! I know what they gave you! It could have killed you! It will linger for days!”  
  
Anduin hushed her—not to quiet her; he simply had no words to make the situation better, so he listened, and she obliged him.  
  
“You could have been killed, and then where would we be! We’ve lost so much, Anduin! I have! I can’t do this all by myself, and now… what am I going to tell my father?!”  
  
Anduin stroked her hair and took a shuddering breath. “The truth. The truth is that right now, this is where I need to be to heal. I will not be marrying a woman, I will be taking Wrathion as my consort, and I will return when, and if, I am ready to.”  
  
“He won’t understand that, even though I do.”  
  
“Tess, I can’t make him understand.” Anduin kissed the top of her head, feeling her pull back at last. "...and I'm too tired to help him to."  
  
The silence lagged again.  
  
“What are we going to do?” Tess finally asked over the crackle of the cooking fire.  
  
“Tess, I trust you to do the right thing. I trust you to know what to tell him, or not. Aunt Valeera will know the right thing to do, too, so you can ask her if you’re not sure. But I can tell you this much: If I go back, I will break, and I will never be myself again. I need this. I need Pandaria, and Wrathion.”  
  
Tess’ tears dried, and slowly, she nodded; smiling sadly as Anduin wiped the last of the wetness from her cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m glad you are with your dragon. I know how much you missed him.” Her brown eyes were wide, and warm, and when Anduin looked into them he remembered how much he loved her. How good of a friend she was, and some of his suspicion eased. “Have one more drink with us?” he asked. “Just one, and then I promise to get some rest.”  
  
“I… would like that,” Tess said. “And I’ll go back directly after. I’ll tell Valeera, and she and Broll will know what to do. Your father was right to trust them. They’ve been looking after you, too, whether you know it or not.”  
  
Anduin glanced away into the fireplace at that, feeling Wrathion’s curiosity burning just as hot. “Father,” the priest murmured. He then peered toward the open bedroom not far away, and saw Shalamayne—still separated and dark—propped against the wall like an accusation.  
  
“Anduin,” Tess called his name to nudge him from his reverie.  
  
Anduin could now feel Right’s gaze as well as Wrathion and Tess', and he blushed. He was a complete mess—his ability to concentrate or be in the moment was as long dead as his father—and not know what else to do or say, he hummed to Tess wordlessly, raising his chin in acknowledgment.  
  
She squeezed his arm sympathetically. “You’re a good man, and everyone is proud of you. I know you didn’t come here of your free will, but if it will help you get well, I will overlook your intended's methods just this once. It takes strength, and sometimes a lot of outside help, to break the cycle of sadness in duty, of forced marriage and unhappiness that is marketed in the name of service—But if anyone can do it, it’s you. A happy king makes a happy kingdom, and I know things will get better from here, kidnap or no.”  
  
Anduin nodded to her slowly, finally finding his voice. “Tess?” he asked.  
  
“Mhh?”  
  
“Thank you. For being my big sister, and my friend. I’m glad you’re here.”  
  
Some of the tightness around Tess’ eyes relaxed, and she looked years younger as she took a shaky breath. Hugging Anduin one last time, she never did accept her drink from Right, and she was gone in a roil of smoke a moment later.  
  
Anduin could only stand and stare at the spot Tess had been standing, not sure what to make of anything anymore.  
  
“That was fascinating,” Wrathion said, having pulled up a stool next to Right. “Humans are so intricate in their exchanges… is your entire culture this convoluted, Anduin? And I thought dragons were bad...”  
  
~*~  
  
Curled up in bed next to Wrathion, Anduin debated how everything, and nothing, had changed. The crickets sang, the frogs serenaded them from a nearby pond, the silky blankets were soft and plush, and Wrathion was still a solid heat against him—both of them were grown now, so all the more solid. Moreover, some of the innocence between them had died; but what had matured in its place? That was a different beast altogether, and as Anduin lay shirtless, draped across Wrathion’s bare chest, he found he didn’t mind it. The dragon was teasing talon tips through his unbound hair, fanning the strands out over his shoulders, and the silence between them was easy.  
  
Right and Left were still up—drinking and arguing about some fact of Pandaren law in the main room of the inn, and Anduin was admittedly sleepless. Partially because he was worrying about Tess and Stormwind, and the other? Well. The way Wrathion’s body fit with his, he was imagining a little more than just a quick release at the top of Mason’s Folly.  
  
What his dragon was thinking, though? That was beyond him.  
  
“What happened?” Wrathion finally asked, and the priest lifted his head to follow Wrathion’s gaze to the halves of Shalamayne in the corner. The guilt worsened.  
  
“Can we talk of it in the morning?” Anduin pleaded, hand stroking down Wrathion’s ribs. The magical pressure of the Azerite necklace the dragon wore was a real presence between them, but Anduin didn’t mind it anymore. He had grown used to it, and it was a small price to pay to be here now—and for feeling safe enough to close his eyes for the first time in months.  
  
“Of course, My Love, of course,” Wrathion all but purred; and Anduin rather suddenly realized he was not the only one thinking about more than the past.  
  
~*~  
TBC  
~*~  
  
A/N: It's not cleaned up yet, but I'll give it another polish before I start on the next chapter. And the next chapter, ohhhhhhh I will enjoy this :D  
  
The Usual: Please note that I am not interested in any form of criticism; I write to please myself. However, should you enjoy my work, a kudo, positive comment, and/or a bookmark go a long way toward encouraging me to continue. You also don't have to like what I do, and in that case, feel free to hit the back button. Last, but not least, I couldn't do this without a dedicated beta! So, all hail Adariall, who was brave enough to go on this adventure with me. If you see them, give them some mad props!


End file.
